


Loki's Sensitive Titties

by TheAngryKimchi



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Intersex Loki (Marvel), Loki is the Asgardian equivalent of 16-17, Loki's titties get worshipped, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Thor (2011), Size Difference, That's really it, Thor is in his early to mid-twenties, and the, idk I just want the, okay it has a little frottage too, titties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAngryKimchi/pseuds/TheAngryKimchi
Summary: “Do they ache?” Thor whispers against Loki’s lips, touching his fingertips on the front of Loki’s gown, reverently almost, thinking of the small mounds hidden beneath, too small to even fill the cups of his palms. They’ll probably feel silky soft to his touch, the tiny peaks hard but pliable against the callouses of his hands.“Very.” Loki sounds breathless, pliant and petitte inside Thor’s embrace. “My blood is supposed to come next week and my breasts feel so heavy, Thor. So–” he gasps lightly when Thor cups a swollen tit in his palm. “ So sensitive.”—Loki’s titties are sensitive and Thor's healing touch is the only thing that can soothe him.
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 339





	Loki's Sensitive Titties

**Author's Note:**

> What do you do when you can't stop thinking about young Loki suffering because his smol tits are tender and swollen? Obviously, you write about it!
> 
> A big shout-out to [@Ktspree13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ktspree13) who was the world's awesomest beta and saved my ADHD brain many hours of trying to focus by going over this horny, silly thing for me!! 🥰❣️
> 
> Also, a big apology to everyone on Twitter who had to put up with me yapping about Loki's Sensitive Titties in cursive ^^;
> 
> This is probably the silliest, most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. You've been warned!

In hindsight, Loki should have been more adamant in refusing Thor’s request for training. His brother’s incessant whining and pestering had proved to be stronger than Loki’s already existing discomfort and poor mood. Thor had managed to annoy him enough that the only thing he could do was throw the heavy tome of Runes and Their Magic Attributes—that he’d already spent more than half of the morning pouring over—onto the desk and follow him angrily out of the library.

Now a good hour into their sparring, Loki finds himself panting slightly, overwarm in his clothes, even with the cool autumn day. Beads of sweat gather to run down his forehead and the nape of his neck only to vanish into the high collar of his sparring jacket. He’s going to be sore, come tomorrow, from all the times Thor has tricked or tackled him into the ground, but the most irritating of all is the torturing drag of his tender nipples against the material of his thin linen undershirt; the way his tiny but heavy breasts bounce at even the slightest motion, despite the tightness of his leather jacket, making him have to stifle the little sounds that want to leave his lips at the contact or else risk alarming his brother to the peculiar state he is in.

Yes, Loki should have driven Thor away like he has done so many times before.

The muscles of his legs ache dully when he takes three quick steps to the side to dodge the swing of Thor’s wooden staff. He swiftly hits his brother’s left side with his own staff, chuckling at Thor’s low grunt. Thor growls and charges in for another hit, but Loki’s lighter on his feet, slighter of frame and he’s able to avoid his brother’s half-thought strategy.

“You should put more effort into your footwork than in expanding your already massive bulk,” Loki snickers, half out of breath when he dances just out of Thor’s reach yet again. The motion makes the leather of his jacket twist and one of his nipples to drag against the diagonally sewed zipper sending a jolt of both pleasure and discomfort through him. 

Thor halts, perking up at the little sigh that manages to escape Loki’s lips despite his best attempts. “Is something the matter?” he asks, throwing wisps of golden hair away from his face.

“No.” Loki grumbles, righting his jacket quickly and biting his tongue so as to not make another sound when his chest moves momentarily with it. “Just a sore muscle. Let us continue.”

“Alright,” Thor murmurs after a moment of thought, thumping one of the blunt edges of his staff on the ground before charging and almost successfully butting Loki’s side. 

Slightly distracted, still, Loki turns sideways in the very last second, the staff whispering through the air right in front of his belly, before Thor stumbles against him, too lost into his momentum to stop. His forearm feels like a brand on Loki’s skin when it wraps around the back of his waist, holding him upright and too close to his body. Momentarily, Loki is taken aback by his brother’s nearness. Even in his late teens, Thor’s already bigger than most other Asgardians his age, looming a good head over Loki, successfully obscuring the glare of the midday sun from reaching his overheating skin. His staff clatters on the ground when Loki throws his hands out to find leverage on Thor’s dusty tunic, bewildered by the sudden proximity. 

“I’m sorry,” Thor says, still holding him tightly against his chest, his breath falling hot on Loki’s ear and, somewhere from deep inside his belly, Loki can feel a light jolt of desire, the uncomfortable wetness of his core slowly drenching his smallclothes.

Loki keeps his eyes on some abstract point on Thor’s shoulder, trying not to flutter his eyes or make any telling sounds at the sheer pleasure that his brother’s touch ignites inside him.

“If you–” he starts, but has to pause and swallow the lump that’s lodged in his throat and try again. “If you would listen to me for once in your life, you wouldn’t have to apologise all the time.”

“Aye, you are correct. Of course,” Thor nods in shameful agreement, his fingers dig momentarily into the small of Loki’s back. He lets go of him, taking a step back, finally allowing Loki to breathe. 

Retrieving his staff, Loki moves farther away, resuming his stance silently.

* * *

Loki gasps in pain when Thor’s staff lands on his sore chest, pain flaring like scorching fire all the way up to his neck and down to the pit of his stomach. It forces him to double over, trembling hand pressing on the swollen flesh of his left breast, trying to somehow ease the pain while bright dots dance behind his closed eyelids. Sounding from afar comes the dull thump of wood hitting the ground before there’s warmth between his shoulder blades, his brother’s booming voice calling his name worriedly.

Nearly absent-mindedly Loki holds his free hand in the air to signal for Thor that he is alright, to not worry, but it still takes too much effort to simply breathe, his flesh stinging and pulling with even the tiniest of motions that has his breasts drag against the silk material of his undershirt.

Finally, after what seems like eons, Loki manages to straighten up, only flinching a little at the sensation. Thor still has his paw on his back, rubbing small circles, but withdraws it quickly upon Loki’s movement.

“I apologise, brother, I have yet to learn how to fully control my power,” Thor says, running his dirty, dust-covered fingers through his hair, an openly regretful expression pinched on his face.

And how is Loki to correct or appease him when Thor, unknowingly, serves him with the perfect lie for why such a hit—one which would be completely harmless, like a simple pat, on any other day—has managed to double him over in pain.

Loki schools his face into something remotely reproachful and, carefully, crosses his arms over his chest. “You are such a blundering oaf, Thor! A true terror! This is exactly the reason why I tried to deny your demands to train with you earlier!” He ignores the slight wheeze in his voice, ready to turn on his heel and walk away, when Thor jerks out a hand and grabs his elbow.

“I am truly sorry, Loki. Please believe me when I tell you I am trying.”

“Then perhaps you aren’t trying enough.” Loki scoffs, trying to not let his guilt show when he glares at Thor’s hurt face. He doesn’t try to yank his elbow back, though, no matter how much he wants to be able to retreat to his chambers and sink himself into a soothing, steamy bath.

“I am!” Thor exclaims, almost offended, but it’s short-lived. His expression crumbles again, along with the wide span of his shoulders. “I– I will. I promise you.” He whispers and, finally blessedly, lets go of Loki’s bony elbow. He’s finally free to walk away, leaving Thor behind him to stand in the middle of the dusty training grounds like a puppy who’s lost his master.

* * *

The sound Loki makes when he lowers himself in the steamy heat of his bathtub is something bastardized between relief and pain. His straining muscles surely enjoy the soothing sensation of the water, as does his slightly aching belly and swollen right tit, but the pain on his left flares again momentarily. Thor’s staff landed directly over his nipple and now there’s a line marking the area, turning his nipple deep red against the paleness of his skin. 

Calling seidr to his fingertips, he runs them over the aching flesh, but it does little to soothe him—unlike usual, Loki’s seidr seemingly weak against this specific kind of pain. Loki hisses in frustration, feeling his pulse beating all along the length of the marking line and, sinking deeper into the water, he resigns himself to the dull ache and heaviness of his pre-menstruation symptoms.

* * *

In the dining room, Thor fidgets in his place. Mother and Father are talking quietly over him from both ends of the table, seemingly in peace with the empty seat opposite Thor, uncaring of Loki’s absence.

He wasn’t feeling well, Frigga had said upon Odin’s questioning of his son’s whereabouts and from then on Loki’s absence hadn’t been discussed again. But Thor doesn’t like it, he isn’t used to it and the clear place on the table is slowly filling him with unease. His brother had already looked somewhat fatigued, even from before Thor had managed to drag him away from that cursed library of his, and he looked uncomfortable for most of their sparring. 

What if Thor’s earlier blow was more serious than Loki let it seem?

Shaken, Thor puts down his fork, void of appetite.

Absently, he takes notice of the servant that rushes to clear his plate away while he pushes back his chair and rises to his feet.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” he says to his parents, not raising his eyes from the tablecloth. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling too good, either.”

Frigga looks worriedly at him, taking his wrist into her lean hand gently. “What is the matter with the two of you today?”

Smiling, Thor pats her soft hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss. “Our sparring was harder than usual. We’re simply exhausted, I assure you.” He is quick to take his leave after that, before Odin finds any reason to stall him.

Making only a small detour to his chambers to retrieve a small black container, Thor goes straight to Loki’s door. He knocks once, twice, but no answer comes from his brother so Thor decides to let himself in. 

The antechamber and Loki’s messy study are both deserted, so Thor walks straight into Loki’s bedchamber which is also sans Loki, but for only a single moment before the door to the bathing room opens and Loki comes into gorgeous, dreamlike view. Naked as the day he was born, waterdrops glistening on his pale skin and dripping from his short, midnight hair, like silver shooting stars. Oh Gods.

The container Thor’s holding clatters and rolls on the floor when he takes in, flabbergasted, his brother’s lean frame. The sound startles Loki, who is only now taking notice of Thor’s appearance in his room.

“Thor!” he exclaims, high-pitched and mortified before he wraps his arms tightly around himself. The motion is unnecessary at best, for Thor has already managed to see what Loki is now trying to hide: the slightest swelling Thor has ever seen softening and rounding the otherwise hard planes of Loki’s torso and, further south, the tight pink slit of a smooth quim, partly hidden by Loki’s soft manhood. “What in Bor’s name are you doing here?!” Loki asks shrilly, eushing to the plush armchair in the nearest corner of the room, grabbing for the silk nightgown he’s left there.

“I- I- uhh… I thought that- I-” Thor stammers, unable to form a coherent enough sentence, too lost in the image of his brother’s naked body that’s now seared in his brain. He doesn’t avert his eyes from Loki, though, not even when his brother turns his back to him to pull on the silky garment, his curious eyes following the flowing motion as it falls to cover Loki down to the middle of his slim, milky thighs. 

“You weren’t at dinner and I thought I’d bring you my salve, but you– you–” Thor tries again, copying Loki in the wideness of his eyes, “You weren’t– uhhhh– I wasn’t– and you– and you... uhh...you– _you have a vagina!?_ ” 

_Oh, wow! Go brain you!_

Thor groans when he understands what has just left his mouth, brings his palms to rub against his face as he exhales harshly. How very stupid of him!

Loki doesn’t reply—thank the Norns. He looks bewildered at his big brother, blush high on his cheeks and spreading down to disappear under the deep lace neckline of his nightgown (probably all the way to his very pink, very hard nipples). Thor swallows hard, squirming on the floor when he feels the twitch his suddenly very hard dick gives at the thought of those nipples rolling on his tongue, the little sounds Loki would make.

They stand looking at each other, Loki’s eyes travelling down from Thor’s face, to his quickly moving chest and further south to the rising tent in his soft, cotton breeches. A tiny sound dies in Loki’s throat, his elegant hands twisting into the hips of his gown.

“I do,” he says finally, voice small, “I’ve always had.”

Thor shakes his head. “No, you didn’t,” he says stupidly. 

“I most certainly have. You were just too young to notice.” Loki licks his lips, eyes darting between Thor’s face and the very obvious hardness inside his pants. “What are you doing here again?” he asks, a little absently, voice a tad breathy. His rosy mouth parts slightly, invitingly almost, the same way it did so many times during their sparring to allow silent puffs of air to leave them and Thor has an incredibly difficult time comprehending his brother’s question; it’s near hypnotic, the light quivering of said mouth.

When he’s finally able to shake himself back to the present, Thor startles a bit, starts scouring the floor for the black container he brought in from his room. It has rolled on the floor, a scant inch from Loki’s toes. _Perfect!_ He wants to go hide in his rooms—possibly masturbate the evening away. But more than anything he wants this awkward meeting to be over already.

“I came to bring you a salve I’ve got for sore muscles and bruises...” Thor’s voice falls into a whisper at the end, pointing to the container before Loki’s feet. Loki stares, surprised, down at it, but doesn’t make any motion to retrieve it. “Let me just, uuhh...” Taking two wide steps forward, Thor kneels before him, trying to hold his eyes steady on the ground. 

He notices Loki’s slender toes, pink from the steamy bath, wiggling upon the marble just as he wraps his fingers around the container. He’s unable to stay his eyes from following the long lines of Loki’s metatarsals to his narrow, slender ankles and, further up, to his smooth calves and thighs. He draws a short breath at the little tent Loki’s cock is making of the silk, mouth filling with saliva at the sight, and he might have been staring at it longer than appropriate because, suddenly, Loki’s hands come together beneath his navel to wring each other and tug on the gown in a fidgety notion. 

When he tilts his head back to stare up at his brother (trying not to be sidetracked again by the little swell of Loki’s chest) he finds him nibbling on his lip, big eyes turned to the floor at Thor’s left and dark brows brought together in an almost pitiful look. He looks so much younger than he is. So innocent.

“Loki?” Thor calls his name gently, wrapping a hand around his brother’s bony ankle. It feels so fragile in his grip, breakable almost. The sound Loki makes isn’t like anything Thor has ever heard coming from his brother before—a strangled whimper, raised and killed in the deepest part of his throat, as if he’s in the greatest of pains. “Will you let me attend to you?” Thor asks—he doesn’t know where either the words or the (foolish) courage have come from, but it’s probably from his very (very, _very_ ) interested dick. 

Gasping, Loki turns his bright eyes to meet Thor’s, charming little mouth opening in shock. He doesn’t reply, but he takes the salve from Thor when it’s proffered to him, staring at it as if amazed, lost in the intricate workings of his mind. 

Thor releases the hold he’s got on Loki’s ankle, caresses his rough palm up the back of his brother’s smooth calf, over the sensitive skin behind his knee and to the middle of his thigh where the silk gown tickles the top of Thor’s hand. He watches fascinated as chills rise to follow his touch and then starts rising to his feet, so close to Loki he can nearly feel the light jut of his brother’s length. Sneaking beneath the gown he grabs onto one smooth, round buttock for a moment before he withdraws and wraps his arm around Loki’s waist instead, pulling him snug against his body.

“Tell me, Loki, will you allow me to care for you?” he whispers, touching the fingers of his other hand against one high cheekbone, having to tilt his brother’s head to look at him. His lips touch the tip of Loki’s arrogant nose as he speaks and his bristles must be tickling him for he sniffs and twitches his nose like the world's most adorable bunny.

Something passes in his bright greens for a moment and then Loki murmurs a single, airy affirmative before grabbing onto Thor’s shoulder, rising on his tiptoes to kiss his brother’s mouth. 

Thor sighs into the kiss, cradling the side of his brother’s face into his palm, enjoying how the short strands of hair tickle his fingertips. He presses more firmly against Loki’s lips, tilting his head to the side for a better angle and prying their pliant seam apart with his tongue. 

In the distance, he can hear the telling boom of thunder at the little wheezing sound Loki makes when he pulls him flat against his body. 

“Do they ache?” Thor whispers against Loki’s lips, touching his fingertips on the front of Loki’s gown, reverently almost, thinking of the small mounds hidden beneath, too small to even fill the cups of his palms. They’ll probably feel silky soft to his touch, the tiny peaks hard but pliable against the callouses of his hands. 

“Very.” Loki sounds breathless, pliant and petitte inside Thor’s embrace. “My blood is supposed to come next week and my breasts feel so heavy, Thor. So–” he gasps lightly when Thor cups a swollen tit in his palm. “ _So_ sensitive.”

“Oh, brother, and you had to put up with me and my demands for sparring.”

Loki shakes his head, his bottom lip lodged between his teeth in his attempts to stifle his moans at the way Thor starts lightly fondling his breast. So gently, so carefully. The sensation almost brings tears to his eyes, any pain forgotten. His brother’s touch, finer than a healer’s.

“Let me see you, Loki. Let me bask in your beauty, little dove.” Thor’s free hand is already dragging the gown up Loki’s thigh, over his hip and side, the heat of his palm spreading on Loki’s cool skin like wildfire. Loki’s cock stands nearly stiff between them, pressing insistently against Thor’s clothed loins, but Loki is willing to ignore it for now if it means he’ll receive more of Thor’s comforting touch on his tender breasts.

When his gown gets discarded on the marble floor with nothing more than a light susurrus in its wake and Loki’s standing naked again before him, Thor takes a step back to regard him, to take in the entirety of Loki’s majestic shape; the wide and sparkling stare of his eyes under the candlelight; the red from his kisses and open mouth; the wide span of his milky shoulders that tapers off into a narrow waist that expands and shrinks to the point his ribs become visible, delicate indentations beneath his skin; the swollen miniature mounds of his chest with the pink peaks and the proud jut of his manhood that now fails to conceal the absence of testicles or the existence of a glistening slit that opens slowly like a flower to reveal the tiny bud of Loki’s clit.

“Gods above, Loki,” Thor groans, shaping a hand on the side of Loki’s neck to pull him closer. “You’re a gift from Valhalla, of this I’m certain.”

The colour that rises to Loki’s cheeks is terribly endearing; Thor would be remiss not to follow its ascend with his lips from the middle of Loki’s collarbones all the way to the high edge of his cheeks. Loki whimpers when Thor kisses him sweetly and deep, tongues meeting in a wet slide that has his knees buckling and his fingers grabbing onto Thor’s crimson tunic. 

Quick to action, Thor bends down to wrap an arm behind Loki’s legs and lift him against his chest, holding him aloft as if Loki weighs absolutely nothing to him. It thrills Loki, has him uttering a stuttery sigh into the kiss, wrapping his arms tight around Thor’s thick neck, fingers twining into the shaggy golden hair.

But the relief is short-lived. The pain in Loki’s chest flaring back to life the more Thor’s touch is absent from it. Loki moans, pained and low, and lowers his forehead to rest on his brother’s stubbled cheek. 

“Thor...” he whispers, demanding in his need but unable to find a way to word it; too shy for such open displays of weakness before his golden brother.

“Give me a moment, little dove,” Thor whispers, obviously affected, and somehow manages to succeedingly crouch low on the floor to retrieve the salve (again) while maintaining his hold on Loki at the same time, moving to make a seat on the bed for himself.

The first contact of the salve with Loki’s inflamed flesh is heavenly as Thor starts lathering his right tit generously, dragging first his fingertips and then the heels of his palms in gentle circular movements that have Loki moaning lowly in pleasure and relief. 

“Heavens,” he whispers, sagging more firmly against Thor, hiding his face in the crook of his neck, content in finally feeling the irritating, constant pain leaving his body in the wake of his brother’s touch. 

“You like that?” Thor asks, voice coming out heavy and low with a desire that makes Loki’s insides turn to mush.

“Yes,” Loki nods, fluttering little kisses on the warm skin of Thor’s neck and jaw, unable to hold back. He gasps lightly when he feels Thor’s forearm tightening on the small of his waist, dragging him more firmly against his chest. The motion brings him to sit sideways, but perfectly centered on his brother’s lap and, like this, the hard poke of Thor’s clothed cock is solidly pressed against Loki’s drenched quim.

“ _Thor,_ ” Loki whimpers at the sensation, chills erupting from that hot point of contact and outwards, towards his thighs and buttocks before slowly dying out. Only to be renewed again with every small jostle of their bodies that forces his wet lips to part, shape themselves around the covered manhood. Thor’s touch on his tits has his eyes rolling behind their shut lids when questing fingers pluck on a hard nipple.

“Straddle me, baby, let me see to you.” 

Sensing his face heating up, Loki chokes on the desire his brother’s words flare in his belly, hands curling into tight fists on Thor’s tunic. But he works up the strength to remove himself from Thor’s lap nevertheless, aching for something more than he’s received until now—always aching for anything and everything Thor would give him.

Thor’s hands are on him as soon as he steps onto the floor, impatiently tugging and pulling at him until Loki’s sat properly on his lap, each knee firmly dug into the bed on either side of Thor’s thick thighs. They splay on his torso, nearly circling the entire width of Loki’s belly, effortlessly spanning Loki’s chest when they glide upwards and Loki’s breath leaves him in a stutter, legs quivering when he tries to hold himself in the air above Thor’s groin, suddenly too shy in his nakedness.

As if sensing his unease, Thor cradles Loki’s slender neck in both his palms, shushes him kindly when he digs his thumbs into the small contours of his collarbones, massaging in soft, little circles. 

“It’s alright, Loki,” he whispers, leading him into an almost chaste kiss. “It’s alright.”

And Loki is unable to hold back any longer, burns under his skin for Thor’s kisses, for his touch, for the searing length of his cock laying beneath him, a scant inch away from his weeping core. 

His thighs give out, abandoning him to fall squarely on Thor’s lap, arse comfortable on the wide span of his muscled thighs, the lips of his cunt open to accommodate the hard line of Thor’s arousal. A watery sigh slips from his lips when he rubs against his brother and the rough material of his breeches, his own cock—caught between the warmth of their bellies—twitching at the contrast of Thor’s tunic and Loki’s bare skin.

“Kiss me,” Loki pleads into Thor’s lips, encircling his brother’s shoulders in his wiry arms, holding him hard against his chest. “Touch me, Thor.” Their hearts feel as if beating as one, shaking them all the way to their cores. “Please!”

For once, Thor does as he’s told, kissing Loki hard and deep, tongue sweeping inside to lick into his mouth, tangle with Loki’s own in a wet slide that has them both moaning. One of Thor’s hands reaches behind him to grab onto a buttock, squeeze on the supple flesh as he pulls him forward to rub more firmly against him. His other hand caresses down the side of his brother’s neck, the touch so gentle it comes in great contrast to the way he’s gripping on Loki’s hip with the other, guiding him into motion in his lap. His fingers draw mindless whorls onto Loki’s skin, circle the muscle of his left tit and then drag inward, towards the pale pink and puffy areola and the hard nub, making Loki whimper when they pluck on his nipple softly, experimentally almost. 

Letting his head fall limp on Thor’s shoulder, Loki stares at the night outside his high balcony, feels the stars twinkling brighter through the water in his eyes when Thor sucks hard on the tendon of his neck, snatching a startled cry from his lips. The sensations are overwhelming. Loki’s mind is quickly turning to mush, liquefying under his brother’s ministrations. 

Is he drunk? He feels drunk. 

Loki chuckles, happy, intoxicated with arousal. He tilts his head backwards and shuts his eyes under the ceiling’s golden sheen. He sighs and keens when Thor finally guides his sinful mouth on his chest, lips too warm, too soft as they kiss the length of the mark that was left earlier on his breast. And then their searing circle wraps around his nipple, tongue licking on the hard, rosy peak, rolling it between his teeth. The faint rasp of them on his sensitive flesh making him tremble, gush a little from both his quim and his cock that dribbles a steady flow of precome, staining Thor’s tunic.

“I can feel your wetness through my clothes,” Thor groans, burying his face between the puffy planes of Loki’s tits, bucking his hips up towards the maddening heat. 

Loki's back arches beautifully and Thor can't help wondering how it would feel with his cock buried deep inside his little brother. If he’d be able to accomodate his considerable size, would there be room inside his little belly for his brother? 

He groans again at the depravity of his thoughts, of their current activities. He finds himself growing even harder—if that’s possible—leaking into his pants, and he thrusts upwards with purpose, sucks on Loki’s skin, coaxing it to bloom bright red beneath his lips before he moves to the other nipple. All the while continuing guiding Loki’s hips into swift, undulating motions.

Widening his jaws, Thor drags the swollen areola into his mouth, takes good care of gliding his tongue around it while massaging Loki’s other tit, and when he pulls back to stare at his handiwork he finds the nipple glistening and sloppy with saliva, nearly red from the power of his suction. Loki’s mouth has fallen open, staring at him through half-lidded eyes, lips wet and bruised from Thor’s kisses, parted to allow his soft, needy breaths to fall into open air. 

“Thor,” he sighs. And the way he sounds, wrecked beyond compare, should be sin incarnate. 

A sound, like one coming from a wounded animal, rises in Thor’s throat. He crashes their mouths together in a kiss that leaves them both breathless, panting into each other’s mouths.

“I wonder,” he says, voice crackling with something terribly akin to his thunder, “would you be able to come from just this?” His wide hands splay over Loki’s tits once again and he takes a moment to marvel at their sensitivity, at how the simple touch has Loki trembling from head to toe, bony hips stuttering against Thor’s groin. At the light keening sound that leaves Loki’s throat when he presses his thumbs on the twin nipples, Thor’s expression turns feral. “Oh, yes. Yes, you would.”

Loki twists his hands on Thor’s tunic, shuts his eyes tightly as Thor’s fingers start a devastating tempo on his swollen tits, one that lacks any predictable pattern between his actions. His touch stays gentle—no matter if he’s massaging the sensitive flesh or plucking at Loki’s nipples, or twisting them between his fingers, pinching them momentarily before letting go completely to tickle down Loki’s tummy. It doesn’t raise a single moment of discomfort or pain in him, brings only soothing calm in its wake, like a brief summertime rain, leaving him refreshed and wanton at the same time. 

“That’s it, brother. Come on, chase your release. Let me see you coming apart.”

Thor doesn’t try to stop Loki from moving his hips, coaxes him with soft sounds and bruising kisses on his mouth and neck, his shoulders and collarbones.

Loki’s losing any speckle of coherency left in him, too lost in his big brother’s golden warmth to care for anything outside this room, outside the small bubble of their auras, bright and all-encompassing. His fingers twitch in their hold of Thor’s blouse, tightening and flexing as his spine draws tight as a drawstring and it feels as if he bursts against his brother, splinters like a piece of wood meeting Mjolnir’s might. And he’s falling, coming in wet, trembling gushes against his brother, the hole of his cunt empty and pulsing around nothing while his cock flutters against Thor’s stomach, further staining Thor’s clothes with his releases.

He slumps into his brother’s waiting arms, smiles dazedly into the safety of his neck at his praising words, the pride in his big brother’s voice as he pets his frizzy hair and tells him how good he’s been, how beautiful, _a gorgeous sight indeed, little dove._

He feels himself being moved, maneuvered out of his brother’s lap and into the soft, but cool bedding and he’s already missing Thor’s comforting warmth. But he can’t do anything more than give a soft whine, extend a slim hand towards his brother who’s suddenly back at his side, leaning over him with a wet cloth in his hands that he proceeds to drag down Loki’s inflamed chest that’s, peculiarly, not hurting any more, down the long planes of his belly and over his cock and his quim in a swift, sweeping motion that’s there and gone before Loki has time to register it ever existed.

“Wha’ abou’you,” Loki slurs, dark brows pinching into a frown. His worry is short-lived though. His frown turning into a content smile when he feels Thor’s plump lips on his cheek, the tickling sensation of his stubble.

“Don’t worry about me, little dove. Rest now.”

 _Little dove,_ Loki thinks fondly, unable to find the energy to snort at the pet-name. 

“Al’ight,” he hums and he lets his tired eyes slip closed, doesn’t even feel the darkness of sleep sweeping over him. Finally able to rest after weeks of discomfort.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed reading 💕
> 
> Find me on Twitter, [@TheAngryKimchi1](https://twitter.com/theangrykimchi1)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Loki's Growing Titties](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28542477) by [Ktspree13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ktspree13/pseuds/Ktspree13)




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